


Five Hugs, Plus One

by fourthage



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 17:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourthage/pseuds/fourthage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Hawke gave Carver a hug, and one time he gave her one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Hugs, Plus One

**Author's Note:**

> Another kinkmeme fill. The prompt was inspired by this fanart: http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lvoiqfOiBV1qi5smho1_500.jpg

**I.**

It was the middle of winter, and the wind blew hard against the thin walls of the house.  Father was away in town, and Mother was pacing in front of the fire with a colicky Bethany.   Hawke curled up in her bed and watched the light flicker against the ceiling.  She was cold, and a little hungry, but Mother had just said, "Not now, dear," when she asked for some food.  

Carver hiccuped, and let out a thin wail.  Hawke tried to burrow further under the blankets.  Stupid babies.  

"Sweetheart," Mother said.  "See to your brother, please?"  Hawke looked over rebelliously, but Mother looked even more tired than usual and almost like she'd been crying, so Hawke kicked off the covers and shuffled over to the cradle where Carver was working himself into a full-blown fit.  He was a big baby, and she had to wrap both of her arms around him to hold him properly.  She tried to rock him like Mother did, but it was uncomfortable and awkward, so she ended up on a stool with Carver tucked against one shoulder as she bounced him as much as she was able.  Mother patted her head as she passed by.

"Thank you, dear," she said, as Carver began to quiet.  One fat fist swung up and hit Hawke on the cheek, and Carver babbled into her shoulder, drooling.  But Mother was smiling at her, so Hawke ignored the growing damp spot and held Carver a little tighter.

 

**II.**

"Hold still, Bethany." Hawke put one hand on top of Bethany's head, and turned it so it was facing forward again.

"Carver's throwing things at me," Bethany said, squirming.  Hawke, fingers half-way through a braid, tugged Bethany's hair to make her settle.  Carver plopped down a few feet away.  He had a stalk of wheat in one hand, and began pulling off the grains one by one.   He watched his sisters out of the corner of his eye, and when he thought neither of them was paying attention, flicked one at Bethany again.

"Carver!" Hawke started, when the wheat burst into flames.  He dropped it and shied away, giving her an injured look as he blew on his hand.  Hawke was just as shocked.  "I didn't do that," she told him.  Then she realized that Bethany had gone stiff in front of her.  

"I'm sorry," Bethany gasped, before scrambling up and fleeing toward the house.  Carver stared after her, hand forgotten.  Then he glowered at Hawke.

She frowned back. "I didn't know either."  Carver's mouth tightened, and he looked away, shoulders set.  Hawke reached over and yanked, toppling him backwards.  She leaned her forearms on his chest to pin him in place.  "Hey," she said.  "You aren't going to be an ass about this, are you?"

"Get off!"  Carver drew his knees up and pushed, but Hawke had had her growth spurt last summer, and he hadn't.  She kicked one ankle and leaned a little harder.

"Are you?"

Carver struggled a bit more, for pride's sake, before going limp.  "Fine," he said.  Hawke raised her eyebrows at him.  "No, I won't.  Now get off!"

Hawke let him up, but not before leaning in to kiss him on the forehead, just because he hated when she did.  He made a show of scrubbing it off, she poked him in the side, and by the time Father came to call them to dinner, they were both absolutely filthy from pushing each other in the dirt.

 

**III.**

Hawke tossed the last potato in the basket and put up a hand to rub the muscles at the back of her neck.  Maker, but she hated farm work.  Standing, she hoisted the basket up to balance on one hip and made her way over to the edge of the field.  She put her basket with the others in the wagon and looked around for Carver.  They needed to get this load back to the farmhold before dark if they wanted to get paid.

He was down the road a bit, leaning against the fence that separated the fields from the cow pastures and talking to someone.  As Hawke got closer, she recognized the daughter of the farmer whose fields they had just harvested.  

". . . recruiting soldiers at Ostagar," Carver was saying. "I'm going to join up.  Life of a soldier suits me better than a farmer."

The daughter, Peaches, smiled and looked up Carver through her eyelashes.  "You'd make a great soldier," she said, reaching one hand out to squeeze his bicep gently.  "I can tell."

Oh, _ew_.   There was no way Carver was old enough for that.  And even if he was—and he _wasn't_ —a girl with the name of Peaches was definitely not what he needed.  Hawke came up behind Carver and slung an arm over his shoulder to dangle down in front of his chest, resting her chin on the other shoulder. "Yes," Hawke said.  "Our little Carver is just full of big plans."  She tightened her hold as Carver tried to shrug her off, and gave Peaches a grin full of teeth.  "But right now, we've got a load of potatoes to take in."

Peaches dropped her hand and looked uncertain.  "Oh, um . . ." She bit her lip.  "I don't want to get in the way of your work."  She glanced at Carver again, and he puffed up as much as he could with Hawke's weight on him.  

"You can ride back with us," he offered.

Hawke pinched him, but he ignored her in favor of offering Peaches his arm.

And that was why Hawke ended up riding back wedged between baskets of potatoes.  And also why Carver woke up the next day with his shirtsleeves sewn together.

 

**IV.**

There ought to be a rule about underground caves being swelteringly hot.  Caves were supposed to be cold.

Hawke was aware she was trying to distract herself, but what else was she supposed to do, when her only remaining sibling was burning up and half-delirious, and the only healer in the party looked more resigned every hour?  She pushed damp hair away from Carver's forehead to avoid meeting his eyes.  

"You idiot," she said.  "You should have said something sooner."

"It wouldn't have made a difference," Anders said.  "Once the taint is in you, it's irreversible."

Carver tried to sit up, but only made it half-way before slumping back again.  "We can't all be as rational as you," he muttered.

"Shut up."  Hawke looked at Anders.  "Are we going to make it in time?"

"If they're here, we should run into them soon," Anders said.

"Time to move again, then."  Varric helped her get Carver back up, and she pulled his arm over her shoulder when he staggered.  "Don't argue," she said, and Maker, when had he gotten so heavy?  She used to be able to carry his weight like it was nothing.

Anders was right though, and they found the Grey Wardens less than two hours after that.  There was no hesitation when their leader asked if she was sure Carver should undergo the Joining.  He wasn't even trying to support his own weight now, and any chance at life was worth it.

And then the Grey Warden leader said, "You may not see him again."  His men moved forward to take Carver.

Hawke tightened her arm around Carver's waist.  It was a parody of an embrace, with him too weak to do anything but hang in her grip.  She kept her grip on his hip even as the Wardens took her place in carrying him, letting go only when they moved out of arm's reach.  The Warden leader nodded to Anders, and then they were gone.

She didn't know how long she stood there, staring after them, but Varric eventually cleared his throat and touched her elbow.

"Right," Hawke said, voice hoarse.  "To the surface."

  
**V.**

The city was burning.  Smoke and ash choked the streets and blocked the sun, leaving the streets lit only by the reflected glow of the fires.  The whole effect put Hawke in mind of some of the more dangerous parts of the Fade.  She leaned on her staff, breathing hard, and gave thanks that whatever other advantages the Qunari possessed, Templar abilities had thus far eluded them.  The street was clear for the moment, and she took the time to check on her companions.  Everyone still seemed to have all their limbs, and there was a noticeable lack of broken bones or copiously bleeding wounds.

More screams, up ahead and past the Alienage.  Aveline didn't even hesitate, and was in a flat run before the first scream faded, Fenris at her heels.

"There," Hawke panted, as she followed with Varric and Anders.  "Isn't this so much more exciting than your planned evening in?"

A ripple in the air warned her just in time, and she threw up a protective barrier as lightning forked across the alley.  Anders took up the spell a second later, expanding it to cover the others. Hawke left it to him and began throwing a few lightning bolts of her own.  There were other people fighting the Qunari too, and she caught a glimpse of vaguely familiar blue and silver armor in the reddish half-light.  

Grey Wardens, memory supplied a few moments later, and she was happy to see that they lived up to their reputation.  Carver would be so pleased, she thought, as the last Qunari fell.  He always wanted to be part of something special.

Hawke tamped down on the surge of loneliness that rose with the thought.  Getting maudlin in the middle of a battle would serve no one.  At least her brother was alive.

"Even if he is too much of a git to write back once in a while," she muttered.

“See?  I told you she never opened her mouth without insulting me.”

Hawke whipped around and gaped.  Carver was standing just across the alley, half-turned away from her as he sheathed his sword.  His remark had been addressed to the older Warden next to him, but she could tell by the stiffness in his stance that he was watching her out of the corner of his eye.  

If she'd stopped one second to think, she wouldn't have done it.  Carver wore the armor like he was actually comfortable in it, looking more mature than her baby brother had any right to.  And she knew that slight tension; it said he'd been more than the youngest Hawke for a while and was waiting to see if she was going to puncture the illusion.

But Hawke didn't stop to think.  She practically flung herself across the alley and threw her arms around his neck, dragging him down as she pressed her face into his shoulder.  Carver froze, hands half-raised and hovering awkwardly.  

"You didn't say you had a friend in the city," an unfamiliar voice said behind her.

Carver unfroze enough to tense in an entirely new manner.  "That's not—she's my sister!"

Right.  Who should really know better than to embarrass her brother in front of his comrades.  Hawke disengaged reluctantly.

"Is that what I am?" she said.  "Last I checked, sisters got written to."

Carver grimaced.  “Do you have to do that here?”

Hawke relented and took another step back.  He was right, this really wasn't the place for any of what she wanted to say, most of which would embarrass him at the best of times.  Later.  They could talk later.

Carver looked skeptical about her sudden acquiescence, but relaxed a bit as he introduced her to his fellow Warden.

 

**VI.**

“ . . . definitely the Carta,” Varric finished.  “Give me another couple of days and I'll have their base.”  He stroked Bianca's haft.  “And then we'll pay them a visit.”

Orana came into the study with a towel soaked in cold water.  Hawke thanked her and pressed it against the long gash on her forehead, wincing.  An inch lower and she might have lost an eye.  How dare they, attacking her here in her own home, where any of her household might have gotten hurt?    They'd even entered Mother's room looking for her.

“Hawke?” Varric said.  He was looking at the hand in her lap.

She looked down.  Sparks were dancing over her fingers.  She fisted them.  “Sorry,” she said.

“Excuse me, my lady.” Bodahn stood in the doorway of the study.  “Someone to see you.”

Hawke frowned.  “I said no visitors, Bodahn.”

A hand landed on Bodahn's shoulder and gently pushed him aside.  “I'm not a visitor,” Carver said.  

Hawke stood so fast she got a bit lightheaded.  She leaned against her chair and tried to scowl. “Still don't know how to write ahead of time, I see.  What are you doing here?”

“You're not the only one they went after,” Carver said.  Hawke went cold all over.  His eyes flickered up to her forehead. “Got a bit closer to you, though.”

He sounded a bit smug, but Hawke couldn't bring herself to care.  “I'm glad you came,” she said, holding out a hand.

Carver looked at it, back up to her face, then stepped forward and past her hand to wrap his arms around her, pulling her in tight against him.  Hawke heard Varric get up and the door close.  She patted an arm and swallowed around the lump rising in her throat.  

“Don't tell me you're getting sentimental in your old age,” she said, voice a bit rough.

His arms tightened.  “Shut up.”

Weren't they a pair?  Hawke gave up and leaned into her brother.  He ignored the damp patch on his shirt, and she ignored the occasional hitch in his breath.  After an indeterminable amount of time, she cleared her throat and his arms loosened.

“Can you stay a while?” she said.

“Until this is taken care of,” Carver said.  “It might be Warden business.”

“So this wasn't a family visit?”

“That's not what I—” he caught her eye and made a face.  “I really hate you.”

Hawke laughed and slugged him in arm.

“The feeling is entirely mutual,” she said.


End file.
